From Pharaoh's Hand (8 page)

    
Catfish settled into the dirty recliner and flipped on the television. It was a bit early for news, so he settled on reruns while Beth fixed their supper. The day was fading fast into night; sundown came early in the winter months. They ate in silence and watched reruns until the five o’clock newscast out of Nashville came on the air. Catfish turned up the volume as the newscaster recounted the story of the search for the missing teen.

             
“The search for 17-year-old, Elizabeth Morgan Merriweather, has turned up empty handed as investigators search for clues in a desperate bid to find her in the critical hours of the investigation. Her abandoned car was found in the parking lot of Wal-Mart where she worked part time after school. They found her purse, minus her wallet and cell phone. She is believed to be a runaway, as there is no indication of foul play at the present time. A widespread search is being conducted in the five counties of Madison, Gibson, Crockett, Henderson, and Hardemen. Roadblocks set up along the Interstate earlier today yielded no leads. Carolyn and John Merriweather are here to make a desperate plea for their daughter’s safe return.” The reporter held the microphone in front of Carolyn. Her face was etched in sorrow. Her voice trembled.

             
“Beth, if you’re watching out there somewhere, please, please call us and let us know you’re alright. Your father and I are worried sick about you. We love you, and whatever is bothering you, we can work this out. If anyone knows of our daughter’s whereabouts or has taken her, please contact us so that we can meet your demands. We want our daughter back...please....” and her voice trailed off in sobs as John stepped forward.

             
“Beth, please come home soon to us. We are looking for you. We love you. We want you home with us.”  The reporter gave a hotline number for anyone with any information to call in and report to the police and then gave a grim sign-off before the broadcast was switched back to the main anchorwoman. Catfish turned off the TV. The two sat in silence for a space of thirty seconds before Beth spoke.

     “
They’re looking for me. They will find me, eventually. And you will face jail time for kidnapping. Is that what you want?”

             
“I didn’t
want
any of this to happen, but I had no choice. You’re here now. I can’t afford for them to find you. I can’t let you go home. You, you just know too much.”             

     “
What do you mean?”

             
“Even if I let you go home, you’ll tell them. You can identify me. I’d be running the rest of my life.”

     “
I won’t tell. I swear I won’t.
              “I can’t trust you. I have too much at stake. There’s too many things goin’ on. I can’t afford for them to find out about Frankie. They’ll kill me.”

     “
Frankie? They who?”

             
“Carnel. Frankie Carnel. The man you saw me with yesterday. I know you saw. I saw you staring right at us.”

     “
What’s he got to do with anything?”

             
“Frankie has everything to with everything.”

    
Just as Beth thought she was going to hear the rest of the story, a boat motor from down at the river interrupted. Catfish jumped up, knocking over his beer.

     “
Dang. That’s Old Poke. Stay in the trailer and clean that up. Or I will
make you wish you never been born.”

             
He ran out the door and down the concrete steps. It had grown dark, and there was no security light. Even though Beth stared out the blinds, she could not see what was happening. She thought about running, but she knew she would not get far in this wilderness. She wondered if Catfish had left the keys in the old truck. Her thoughts wandered back to the knife. If she ran to the truck and there were no keys, could she make it back to the house before Catfish?  She had no idea how far away he was. She wondered who Old Poke was. Was that another thug Catfish hung out with? And who was Frankie Carnel? Part of a crime ring? Whoever he was, Catfish was terrified of any retribution at his hands. She had gotten herself tangled in a mysterious web of danger and deceit. She knew she had to get to that truck.

             
Slowly she turned the doorknob, cracked the door, and listened. She could hear voices, but they were moving farther away.  She stepped out onto the first step. Then she ran as fast as she could toward the rusty old truck. She was hassling for breath when she got to the truck door.  When she opened the door, it let out a long creak. She felt strong arms grab her from behind and swirl her around.

             
“Just where do you think you’re goin’, Liza Beth? Home to Mama?”

             
              “I...uh...I…was coming to get my other clothes.”

             
“Don’t you lie to me,” Catfish spat out. “You was makin’ a run for it.” He reached inside, grabbing the keys from the ignition. He grabbed her clothes from the floorboard and flung them at her.

     “
You just better be glad I stopped you. I know where you’re from, Missy. I would track you down and put a bullet in yer purty skull. Now back in the house. Now!”

             
Elizabeth was breathless in her sobbing pleas.

     “
Please...please just let me go home. Please, I beg you… Please.” She fell to her knees in the wet grass in despair, begging for her life.

             
Catfish’s expression softened. He reached down and took her by the arm and helped her up. He took out the dirty bandana and wiped her face roughly.

             
“You got to stop this. I can’t let you go. I done told you. My life is in danger. Stop crying. Just dry up,” he said, trying to appear gruff but his voice had softened.  He pulled her to him; she was soft and pretty. It had been a long time since he had held a woman. Thoughts began to form in his deluded mind that she could grow to like him. He could keep her here forever. She would be his. His hands found the bottom band of her sweatshirt and swiftly they found their way underneath. Elizabeth was startled as his hands grabbed at her. She screamed and pushed him away.

             
“No. No...stop it!” She pulled back, but he held her firmly.

      “
No use fightin’ it missy. We’re gonna spend a lot of time together up in these hills. Might as well make it fun.”

             
“No, Oh please, no.”

    
He had jerked her back to his chest, and his hands were headed down the back of her sweatpants. He was rubbing his beard against her neck and making noises in his throat like he was enjoying making her squirm. The bile rose up in Beth’s throat.

             
“Oh God, Stop! I’m going to be...” but before she could finish her sentence, the vomit was up and out and all over the two of them, splattering all over Catfish and Beth. He let her go. She was choking and bent double. She could not breathe. Catfish was stunned by this event. He had never had a woman throw up at the thought of being with him. Shame burned bright in his cheeks.

     “
I weren’t gonna hurt ya, missy. I swear. I thought you might like it. Might need some comfortin’.”

          “
I’m seventeen. I’m only in high school,” she choked out. “I don’t want you. Why would I want you? You’re dirty. You stink. You chew tobacco and drink beer. Oh no...” and she bent double and heaved again. By this time she was dry-heaving and hurting.

     “
I suppose you’re right.  Been a long time since I cleaned up.” His pride was wounded, what little he had. But at least she hadn’t called him stupid.

              “I’ll get some water heated up to put in the tub. I got a flannel shirt you can wear. Don’t cry. I won’t touch you no more. Just stop crying, for Pete’s sake.”

Beth took long deep breaths, sighing with relief that he was not going to rape her, at least not tonight. For the first time this week, she thanked the Lord for the life that was growing inside her.  Only morning sickness had stopped this ruthless man from taking her and making her a slave to his fleshly lusts.

Chapter 6

The Search

“And it came to pass...”

             
Months had passed since Elizabeth’s disappearance. The investigation had started with a flurry of activity, then slowed to a crawl.  Finally the trail had ended with a reference to Mr. Merriweather’s Mastercard being used at the Wingate Inn right outside of Memphis on the day of Beth’s disappearance.  A girl fitting that description had spent the night at the Wingate, and to the clerk’s recollection, she was alone. The clerk could give only the date of checkout and had no knowledge of Beth leaving. She had not worked the weekend shift, the other clerk had; she had not noticed anything out of the ordinary either. This confirmed the police’s suspicions that Elizabeth was a runaway. The police questioned Elizabeth’s closest friends; they questioned her parents, her relatives, and her teachers. None could give them any reason why Beth would run away from home.

             
Her textbooks were in her car, as well as her gym clothes thrown in the backseat.  There were no notes to indicate why she had left or where she had gone. They rang her cell phone number , to no avail. They tracked her cell phone usage.  She had not used the phone since the day she left. There was one call that day to the Wingate Inn at 8:45 p.m. Other than that, there was a call from her boyfriend, Chris at 9:40, Saturday morning with a message for Beth to call him, and numerous messages from Beth’s parents begging her to call home. All of those had gone to voice mail. Either Beth had ditched the phone, which was unlikely, or she had it turned off. The police noted that unless she had taken the charger with her, it would soon be of little value to her anyway. The charger was found plugged into the cigarette lighter of her car.

             
Beth’s parents put out a desperate media plea and a hundred thousand dollar reward hoping to get their daughter back. The leads came rolling in faster than the police could follow up on them. Most of them led to dead ends, except for two. One was the bus driver of the casino bus who called to say he remembered a girl matching her description riding the bus to Memphis. He was very sorry to hear that she was a runaway. How could he have known? The other lead matched up with the bus driver’s. The Shell clerk had waited on the girl after the bus had departed. She remembered the girl asking for a phone book and buying a map. She said the girl left on foot in the direction of the Wingate. She had paid cash for the map and drink.

     
The police pieced together that Elizabeth had hopped the casino shuttle bus after her work shift and rode it as far as Germantown. She had gotten off at the Shell on Exit 16, bought a map and a drink, then checked in at the Wingate. After she left there, it was anyone’s guess where Elizabeth might have gone. Interviews at the bus stations and cab offices came up empty-handed. Wherever Elizabeth was, she had either walked, hitched, or been forced to go there. She had not used any other form of public transport. Her parents were comforted only in the knowledge that Beth was probably alive and on the run, and most likely still in the Memphis area. The police questioned the employees at the Waffle House, thinking Elizabeth ate breakfast there or at the hotel, but none of the employees could remember.

             
“Honey, this place stays full on the weekends. Old people, young people, black people, white people...who can keep track of them all. I just try to get my shift done and get home and soak my tired bunions. I can’t help you,” the waitress glibly answered. The cook was just as helpful.

      “
Hey, my back’s to the crowd all day. I work for a living.”

             
Elizabeth’s parents had even made a trip down to Memphis to hand out fliers and put them on cars at the mall. They showed her picture to countless shoppers. They plastered her picture at the bus terminal and the cab stations, and all the public attractions, including the Memphis Zoo. The King Tut exhibit had been closed due to the investigation surrounding the robbery. But they scoured the ballpark, Graceland, and a host of other tourist spots, just in case anyone had seen their daughter. John and Carolyn returned to Jackson distraught and emotionally drained. All they could do now is pray for news.

             
West Jackson Baptist Church held a candlelit vigil for Elizabeth, and over 300 students attended. Teachers and friends alike poured into the Merriweather home to comfort and help with the daily tasks. Carolyn had been in a constant state of turmoil. Ladies from the church brought casseroles and made coffee. The men took up an offering from all the Sunday School groups, the choir, the missions groups, every department in the church gave to help pay the Merriweather’s expenses while they took time off from work to devote to their daughter’s search. A gospel singing was held at The Old Country Store to raise money and awareness for the missing teen. It was a given in the rural South that when your neighbor was in trouble, you were there to help out in any way you could. It was one of the reasons  John never considered moving up north. The Hub City was known for making newcomers feel welcomed and loved.  He just could not imagine why his daughter would want to leave.

     
It was mid-April when the officer rang the bell and asked to speak to both John and Carolyn. John trembled as he led the officer in to the living room. The look on the officer’s face was not one of joy. It was somber and foreshadowed bad news.

             
“What is it officer? You’ve found her.” John questioned. Carolyn joined her husband on the sofa and gripped his hand tightly.

     “
No, we haven’t found her. But we have found something
.
A fisherman snagged Elizabeth’s backpack on his fishing line. He drew it out of the Tennessee River near Decaturville. Her wallet and cell phone were inside, along with a heavy brick.”

             
Carolyn gasped. John’s eyes narrowed.

     “
But what does that mean? That’s nowhere near Memphis. You mean the Mississippi River?”
              “No sir. It was the Tennessee River. We aren’t sure at this point what that indicates. I think you must prepare yourself. The backpack being weighted is not a good indication. It could have been used to weight her body.”  At this comment, Carolyn let out a low, guttural moan of grief.

     “
No. My baby…no, God, please no.”

             
John held his wife as she sobbed on his shoulder. He patted her back. He ran his fingers through her hair and tried to soothe the ache within her. Yet, his gut was telling him that Beth was gone. Someone had hurt her.

             
“There’s something else I think you should know. Inside the zipper pocket of the backpack was a used pregnancy test. It was positive. We think Elizabeth may have committed suicide by jumping from one of river bridges. There is also the possibility that this is a homicide. We are going to bring in the boyfriend for questioning.”

             
New moans of grief racked the couple’s bodies, their horror and disbelief played out in painful detail on their faces.

             
“Pregnant? Our daughter is
pregnant
?  John, how could she not tell us?” Carolyn began.

     “
That boy got our daughter pregnant. You think he
murdered her?”
John asked incredulously. “He might be a rounder, but…I mean… murder? I’m going to the police station. I’ll get the truth out of him if I have to beat it out of him.”

             
“Mr. Merriweather, we prefer you stay here and wait for word from us. We have divers at the site where the backpack was found. If Elizabeth turns up, you will want to be here with your wife. Let us handle the investigation, sir, please.”

             
              John swallowed his anger and managed to find his voice, although by this time the vein in his forehead was bulging, and his jaw was tightly clenched.

    “
Thank you for the information, officer. Please call us as soon as you find her.”

             
Jackson’s finest made his farewells and retreated to his police car to radio his whereabouts and where he was headed. John and Carolyn stood in the doorway and cried.  Carolyn nuzzled underneath his John’s arm like a fragile baby bird awaiting nourishment, awaiting hope, awaiting anything that would bring her daughter and grandchild back alive.

             
The scene down by the river earlier that morning had drawn a crowd.  There was never much excitement in the sleepy little town of Decaturville. Word was out that the river was being searched for a body, a missing runaway. Naturally, folks came to see what they could see. Divers would come up at intervals with odd items such as a pair of sunglasses or an odd flip-flop. Each would be tagged as possible evidence to be shown to the family. Every time a diver would surface the crowd would buzz, wondering if the next item brought up would be the missing girl. The recent media coverage about a pregnant lady missing in California fueled their conversation and thirst for more of the drama that was unfolding before them. This could be a copycat murder. The runaway was pregnant too. A special TBI team with fancy sonographic equipment had arrived to aid the search. Bloodhounds were traversing the banks for any clues.

             
A reporter from the local weekly paper was on hand interviewing the lead investigator, but there was not much to tell at this point. The investigator relayed what little information they had gleaned from the backpack and gave pertinent information regarding Elizabeth’s disappearance back in January. The reporter seemed mildly disappointed, but after having obtained the name of the missing girl and where she was from, hurried back to the office to work up his story. They had been by the riverside most of the day. He doubted that they would find the body today, and he had a deadline to meet. Recovering the body would be next week’s story.  He was already dreaming of his story hitting the AP wires and making him the star of the next CNN broadcast. He would write the both segments.  Just in case.

Chapter 7

A Sad Mother’s Day

                           
“S
he refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.”

              It had been another difficult day for Carolyn --Mother’s Day.  Depressed by the thought of her daughter never returning home, Carolyn sat cross-legged on her king-sized bed and surveyed all of the albums before her.  She had photographs of Beth beginning with day one and ending with Christmas 2005.  She had scrapbooks filled with pre-school art and locks of hair.  She had kept every Mother’s Day card Beth had ever given her, starting with her very first, signed by John.  It was unfathomable to imagine that this beautiful young girl had come to a tragic end. 

             
Yes, she had spoiled Beth.  But she had only wanted to give her a life that Carolyn herself had never known.  She wanted her daughter to be popular and well educated, charming, and well groomed.  She wanted so much for Beth. Carolyn picked up Beth’s first grade snapshot.  She had lost her two front teeth, and was extremely self-conscious about it, even at that tender age.

             
“But mommy, what if they laugh at me?”

             
              “Honey, no one will laugh.  All your friends will lose their baby teeth too.”

             
Beth was always worried about what people thought of her.  She was such a people pleaser, such a perfectionist.
I did that to her, I suppose
, Carolyn thought. 
I wanted her to be perfect.  I expected too much from her, pushed her too hard.   Why couldn’t she come to me?
 
Of all people, I would have understood.
Tears were rolling down her cheeks unchecked. 

             
There was a photograph from a recent vacation.  Beth had wanted to go to Dollywood, but John and Carolyn outvoted her in favor of Niagara Falls.  Carolyn had snapped the picture of Beth aboard
The Maiden of the Mist.
  She stood holding the rail, her rain slicker blowing in the mist, her face sullen and uninterested.  Carolyn would give anything to go back in time.  Why hadn’t they gone to Dollywood like Beth wanted?  They could have gone to Niagara after Beth graduated and went to college.  Why had they made her come along, when she had insisted she was old enough to stay home alone? 
I smothered her -- babied her too much.  It’s my fault.  It’s all my fault.